


Only Until The Wind Changes

by deathorthetoypiano



Category: Magic School Bus, Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathorthetoypiano/pseuds/deathorthetoypiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Poppins and Valerie Frizzle have long been putting up with the needs of children, whisking Mary far away for months at a time, to change their lives and fix their problems, but always leaving Valerie at home, waiting for the wind to change so that her Mary will come home. But is this time once too many?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Until The Wind Changes

“Valerie.”

The voice was soft, the arms snaking round her waist gentle, the kiss pressed to her shoulder unbearably light.  Valerie continued to wash the dishes, not turning round, ignoring the way that everything had gone blurry again.  “Mary, please, don’t go.”  She felt her voice crack as she spoke, and ducked her head, brushing away a tear with the back of her wrist before plunging her hands back into the sink of water.

“You know I have to,” Mary replied.  “They need me.”

“ _I_ need you,” Valerie whispered, turning in her arms, ignoring the soapy water dripping everywhere and curling a hand into Mary’s dark hair, threading her fingers through the strands, pulling them loose, softening her.  “I need you.”

“ _You_ will be fine,” Mary told her, tapping her nose then kissing it, smiling reassuringly.  “You were fine before I came along, and you’ll be fine without me for a few weeks.”  Valerie tried to pull away, desperate to cry without being seen, but found herself pressed back against the sink, Mary’s knuckle crooked under her jaw, forcing her to look at her.  “I’ll come back. As soon as the wind changes.  I promise.”

Valerie broke free, a sudden whirlwind of bright fabric and red curls.  “Maybe I’ve had enough of waiting for you,” she snapped.  “But if you’re going, then for God’s sake, just go.”

She didn’t wait to say goodbye, disappearing into their bedroom without so much as a glance back, standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched tight by her sides, staring at nothing.  A few minutes later, the front door closed with a click, and she let go, crumpling onto the floor as sobs racked her body.

 

**

 

Mary set her bag at the foot of her bed, and brought the mirror out of it, hanging it on the wall.  As she hung up her hat, coat and umbrella, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, watching her reproachfully.  “Don’t,” she said to her reflection.  “Don’t say anything.  It’s bad enough, without you making it worse.”

She began to unpack, slowly turning the room from a plain, white-walled attic into a comfortable home for herself for a few weeks.  She managed to remain impassive as she put away her clothes and books, but her strength crumbled as she pulled out the blanket that lined the bottom of the bag.  She gathered it into her arms and buried her nose in it, remembering the many quiet hours that Valerie had spent, painstakingly crocheting it, teaching herself from books so that she could give Mary “ _something to remember me by”_ , before one of her trips.   “ _As if I’d need reminding”_ , Mary had whispered, pulling her close and kissing her.  Mary laid the blanket out on the bed, brushing away her tears and reaching for the last thing left in the bag, a photograph of them together, laughing in front of the Eiffel Tower, the wind blowing their hair together and colouring their cheeks.  She set it on her bedside cabinet, slightly in front of her alarm clock, and angled so that it would be the first and the last thing she saw every day.  Then she stepped back and looked around the room.  “Yes,” she said out loud, “this will do nicely.”  She tried not to notice that she sounded much more certain than she felt.

The children, she soon discovered, were boisterous and mischievous, but far from the most challenging she had cared for.  The problem was that, instead of the two or three that most families seemed to have these days, there were seven of them, all under the age of twelve, and their parents – as well as the succession of nannies they had employed – had struggled to give each of them enough attention to prevent them from seeking it through behaving badly.  It seemed, in fact, that the parents, with their high-powered jobs and busily influential social circles, were more of a problem than the children.  She had begun to wonder whether she was wasting her time.

“Spit spot,” she trilled on her third Monday morning, watching as they slowly emerged from various rooms on the first floor.  They lined up along the landing, each eventually succumbing to her raised eyebrow and tightening their ties, tucking in their shirts, straightening their socks and smoothing their hair.  “Better,” she said with a small smile.  It was not without a feeling of satisfaction that she watched them file neatly out of the door before she followed them, waving cheerily to their perplexed father as she pulled the door closed.

It was a mere fifteen minutes’ walk to their school, but their previous nannies had all taken them by car.  The shock of walking had worn off quickly, and they now skipped and raced most of the way.  Today, though, Phoebe, the second-eldest, hung back.  “Mary?”

“Yes, Phoebe?”  Mary looked down at her with a small smile, wondering what the girl wanted to know.  She had been rather aloof since Mary had arrived, probably having decided that she was too old for a nanny, and Mary was glad to get the chance to get to know her a little better.

“Who’s the lady in that photo?”

“In my room?” Mary asked.

“Yes.  I saw it yesterday when you asked me to fetch your umbrella.”  She paused, then added quietly, “I wasn’t snooping, I promise.”

Mary smiled.  “I know you weren’t.  That’s Valerie, a dear friend of mine.  She lives in America...” She trailed off into silence, lost in her thoughts until they reached the school gates.

 

**

 

“And remember, class, take chances, make mistakes, get messy!”

Valerie watched as her class scurried around her, searching for glue, paint, scrap paper, anything they could use to build a model of the solar system.  Their enthusiasm was infectious, and she found a warm smile replacing the forced one she had been wearing for weeks.  The afternoon passed in a whirl of bright colours and glitter, papier maché and laughter, noise and spilt paint, and Valerie headed home, almost skipping in the late autumn sunshine.  She knew she had been throwing herself into her work, but the term’s trips had been among her best yet, and she was exhausted, but also happy for the first time since Mary had left.  The feeling was strange, especially considering that it had been over a month and she had heard nothing from her, not even a postcard.  She stopped off at a favourite deli to pick up some treats for dinner, planning to settle down for a few hours, watching films and relaxing, catching up on the down time that she had been seriously missing in the last few weeks. 

The front door stuck a little when she unlocked it, catching on an unusually large pile of post.  Valerie bent down and picked up the pile in her free hand, and struggled into the kitchen, setting her bags on the table and putting the kettle on, then made a start on the post.  The first three envelopes were bills, the third a bank statement, the fourth a notice from her mortgage lender about some change in policy, the fifth a request for permission to re-print an article she had written, but the sixth stopped her heart.  It was not cheap white paper, the address was not typed, and the stamp was not American.  Valerie dropped it and put her hand over her eyes, rubbing her temples and focussing on breathing.  After a few minutes, she picked up the envelope again, running her thumb lovingly over the handwriting across its front.  She eased it open, careful not to tear it, and unfolded the paper inside.  She only got as far as _“My darling Valerie”_ before Mary’s handwriting blurred on the page, and Valerie brushed away her tears, worrying that they could drip and spoil the letter.

_“My darling Valerie,_

_Just a quick one to give you my address, if you still want it.  I’ve got seven children this time, but they’re alright.  One of them, Phoebe, was asking me about you this morning.  She saw a photo of you...  Anyway, I hope you’re alright, and school is exciting, and you haven’t got permanently lost in a whale’s oesophagus or something like that._

_I love you._

_Mary”_

Until the wind changes.  It couldn’t be much longer, could it?

 

**

 

Somehow, even though the postal service in rest of the country seemed to be mainly run on wishful thinking and luck, and was wholly unreliable, the Camberleys’ post arrived, every morning at breakfast, on a tray beside the teapot.  It was a charmingly old-fashioned arrangement, and Mary found it a pleasant reminder of times gone by.

It was a cold and rainy Monday morning when a pale blue envelope sat there by the bright yellow teapot, separate from the other letters and bank statements, with Mary’s name on it, begging to be noticed.  She ignored it, hoping to be able to slip away and open it in peace, but the children had beady eyes and were not about to let her get away with it.

“Mary!  There’s a letter for you!  It’s got drawings on the outside!”

Mary closed her eyes briefly and swallowed.  “Yes, James, I know,” she replied, a little too curtly.  “I’ll open it later.”

The children’s father raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing until the children had left the room to get ready for school.  “Mary, is everything alright?” he asked, regarding her over his newspaper and reaching for his coffee.

She smiled, finishing her tea.  “Yes, perfectly alright,” she told him.  “It’s just that I want to read the letter while I’m alone.”  He still looked expectant, so she added, “I know who it’s from, and I know that reading it will upset me.”

He looked kindly at her.  “You know, you don’t have to come back here when the children are at school.”

May nodded a little, acknowledging what lay unspoken in his words, and left the room, clutching the envelope close to her heart.  She tucked it into her coat, unwilling to risk losing it by putting it in her bag, and took the children to school, then headed for a café to read the letter.  She turned the envelope over and over in her hands, examining each tiny drawing, drawing out the process.  Whatever modern people might think, with their telephones and emails – both of which Mary found impossibly complicated and unnecessary, and refused to use – there was a magic in a handwritten letter, a magic that even ordinary people could sometimes feel.   Finally, she pulled the letter gently from the envelope, and read Valerie’s messy, loopy scrawl, the handwriting that encompassed her so perfectly, right down to the way her full-stops looked like commas, because she was always in a hurry to get to the next part.

_“Mary,_

_Of course I still wanted your address.  My darling, I’m so sorry for how I behaved the day you went.  It was unfair, and it was childish, and I will be here when you come home.  Or at least I will be here soon after you come home.  Unless I’m stuck inside a whale’s oesophagus...  if that happens, please know that it won’t be death that scares me.  It’ll be the thought of spending the rest of my life – however short – without you.  I hope these ones are easy to fix so you can come back to me._

_Forever yours,_

_Valerie”_

Mary folded it up again and settled back into her seat, folding her fingers under her chin and staring into space.  Her tea had long gone cold when she pulled a pad of letter paper from her bag, and she sucked absently on the end of her pen as she considered what to write.

 

**

 

“But Mary, you’ve only been here ten weeks!  Everything’s been going so well, you’ve never complained and the children like you.  What is the problem?  Can it not be resolved?”  Mrs Camberley was indignant, ranting at Mary as she held her letter of resignation in her hand.

Mary stood with her back to the window, holding a book in her hand and watching the other woman.  She was tall and good-looking, with red hair that she wore swept elegantly up off her neck, and expensive, stylish clothes that ensured she always looked impeccable.  Mary wondered idly whether her perfect clothes or her reserved attitude towards her family had come first.  “I’m sorry, Mrs Camberley,” she replied, with a cool manner that she was sure was infuriating her further, but that she could do nothing about.  She had made her decision, and nothing would sway her.  “I have to return to America, for personal reasons.”

Mrs Camberley waved her hand dismissively, and Mary had to bite her tongue to stop herself from becoming angry at her lack of concern for anyone but herself.  “Well, given the fact that you are giving us no notice whatsoever, I hope you realise I cannot give you a reference.”

Mary could not stop her eyebrow from quirking, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.  “Frankly, Mrs Camberley, I don’t really need it.  This is more important to me than anything.  I have to go.  I wish you all the best with your family, and I hope you don’t search long before finding a replacement for me, but I will be leaving before dinner.  Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to pack.”  Mary knew that her tone was cold and dismissive, but she was suddenly desperate to be alone.  She turned away, taking more books down from the shelves and organising them on the bed, waiting for the other woman to leave before arranging them into the carpet bag, wanting to avoid further questions.  Finally, Mrs Camberley sighed irritably, then left, closing the door gently behind her.  Mary packed her possessions away, folding and stacking everything neatly, wrapping breakables in scarves and, finally, tucking the blanket in over the top.  After all these years, she had her packing down to a fine art, and found the process soothing.  She checked every drawer and surface once more, pinned on her hat and slipped into her coat, leaving the room without looking back.

 

**

 

Mary stepped down onto the street, her umbrella inconspicuous in the middle of the day, in the wind and rain, and people did not seem to notice it speaking like they used to – she presumed it was something to do with cell phones, and that everybody wore earphones all the time these days.  Distasteful and heartless though she found it all, she had to admit that all this technology had its advantages.  She approached Valerie’s door and hoped fervently that it was a school day.  It should be, but it would not be the first time that she had miscalculated.  She knocked on the front door, waited for a minute or two, then headed round the back, and let herself in the kitchen door with the key she always carried.  The house was silent, definitely empty, and Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she took off her hat and coat.  After the constant noise of the Camberleys’ house, the silence was welcome, but it also meant that she could surprise Valerie without scaring her.  She selected music, turned on some lights, and hung up her scarf on the end of the banister in the hall, reasserting her place in the house just as much as leaving clues of her presence for when Valerie returned.  She located a bottle of wine and put it in the fridge to cool, then headed upstairs to shower and change.  When she came back down, it was completely dark outside, but the house remained silent.  Valerie usually got home earlier than this.  Frowning, Mary headed into the kitchen to find something for dinner, and stopped dead, her lips forming a soft ‘oh’.  Leaning against the centre island, bathed in warm lamplight that set her hair on fire, was Valerie. 

“Hello,” she said softly, after a long silence. 

Mary smiled and padded towards her.   “Hi,” she whispered, raising her hand to Valerie’s cheek, fingertips brushing lightly over her skin as though she were afraid of damaging her, of shattering the illusion, of pushing her away.  “I missed you.”

Valerie looked up at her, absently running her nails up and down Mary’s forearm.  “Well,” she replied, “it’s Friday.  I don’t have school until Monday.  We have all weekend to make up for lost time.  Now then,” she continued, moving away and whirling about the kitchen in search of wine glasses, infuriatingly out of reach, “I want you to tell me all about it.”

But Mary had other ideas.  As Valerie stepped up on tiptoes to reach into a cupboard, Mary moved behind her, pressing their bodies together, and nuzzling her neck.  “I can’t wait that long,” she purred.  Forgetting about the glasses, Valerie turned in her arms, closing the cupboard as she did so, and kissed Mary’s nose with a smile.  “This is nice,” Mary commented, breaking the silence that had fallen as they looked at one another, and running her hands over Valerie’s dress.  It was deep navy, scattered with tiny bursts of pale colours, arranged into what even Mary could recognise as galaxies and constellations.  More than that, though, it fit her perfectly, dipping and curving over her as though it were a part of her.  Mary could not stop her eyes from drifting over her, following the lines of the dress as they hinted at what lay beneath.  “But it’s a shame,” she continued, sliding her hand around Valerie’s hip, drawing her impossibly closer, “because I’d much rather you weren’t wearing it.  Take it off.”  Valerie ignored her, and drew Mary towards her, kissing her softly, but insistently.  Their bodies pressed together, tongues venturing a little forward but hesitating, until Mary finally took charge, and was rewarded with a soft moan.  She turned her in her arms, pressing her body into Valerie’s back, kissing her neck and shoulders.  Mary ran her fingers along the edge of the dress, teasing.  “I said take it off.”  This time, Valerie complied willingly, quivering as she twisted her arm and undid the zip down her back, exposing bright blue silk, and her lovely tanned skin, suspenders – Valerie had long favoured stockings – and ribbons, god how she loved ribbons.  Mary watched as the dress fell from her, and fought the urge to assist.  Valerie stepped out of it with ease, and gasped as Mary pressed her harder against the counter, showering her neck with open mouthed kisses, the heat of her body contrasting deliciously with the cold granite.

“God, Mary, I’ve missed you so much.”  Valerie was hardly breathing, her body drawn tight with the effort of not turning in Mary’s arms, desperate to hold her and never let her go.  Mary’s hands slipped over her skin like ghosts, the memories of all the times they’d done this before, especially the last, tender time before she went away again, foolishly believing that she could keep leaving without giving in to the pain of being apart.  Tears welled in her eyes and her breath caught in her throat as she rested her forehead lightly on Valerie’s shoulder.  Valerie noticed, raising a hand to thread her fingers through Mary’s hair.  “What is it?”

Mary swallowed.  “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to keep leaving you,” she whispered.

Valerie turned, then, kissing her softly.  “Hey, now you stop that.  You did what you had to do.  Besides, you’re home now.”  She leant forward to nuzzle Mary’s jaw, undoing the long row of buttons down the front of her dress, so slowly and deliberately that it was excruciating.  Finally, the dress was loose enough for her to slide her hands inside and slide it away from Mary’s body, exposing strips of dark lace against her pale skin.  Mary watched her, and Valerie was pleased that she was allowing her this, without interrupting or trying to hurry things along.  “God,” she whispered, tracing the edges of Mary’s underwear, her eyes dark with desire, “you’re delicious.” 

But Mary could not resist those ribbons for long, and soon she fell to her knees, dropping a line of kisses across the soft brown skin before her, along the edge of her knickers.  She swirled her tongue over Valerie’s hip, just above where the ribbons were tied into a perfect bow, and she felt the other woman swoon against her, clutching her for support.  She paused, placed a hand on Valerie’s thigh to steady herself, then took one of the ends in her teeth and tugged at it, before repeating the action on the other side, smiling as the knickers slid slowly down Valerie’s thighs.

“Jesus, Mary,” Valerie murmured, curling her fingers lazily in Mary’s hair, “I don’t know how much of that I can stand.  Can we go upstairs?”

Mary contemplated her, tilting her head to one side.  “Well,” she said, as though coming to a decision, “you’ve still got these to go,” snapping a suspender against her thigh, “oh, and this,” as she ran her finger along the edge of her bra, “so you’re going to have to try.  But yes, I suppose we could.  You’re too good to rush.”  She stood, then, taking Valerie by the hand and leading her towards their room.

Sleep, wine and dinner were long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the art I've seen on tumblr, this has been brewing for ages, I've just finally gotten brave enough to really write it.


End file.
